


Scraps of Satin

by noveltea



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:09:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltea/pseuds/noveltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bar. Drinks. And some challenging conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scraps of Satin

The only reason he'd gone out drinking with House's fellows had been to discover the secrets that obviously enticed his friend to hire the group. House never did anything without a reason, and it was usually his curiousity that led him more than anything else, which meant there had to be something about these three that wasn't completely on the level.

What he hadn't expected was that he would be the one revealing the most information. Taub and Kutner had pleaded early mornings and things to do and left early, leaving Wilson sitting at the bar with Thirteen - funny how she'd adopted the persona and it was more real than her actual name - who was matching him drink for drink.

Wilson had started to lose count of the drinks, which was a bad sign.

"Amber really is a bitch," she told him so matter-of-factly that he nearly spit out his drink. She'd already finished her what she'd announced to be her last drink.

He raised an eyebrow. "And that makes you what?"

She shrugged her shoulders lazily, keeping her eyes focused on the empty glass in her hand, her expression unreadable. "I'm not saying that I'm not one either," she told answered finally. "But at least I feel guilty when I act like one."

"What makes you think she doesn't?" He's tired of defending his relationship with Amber, but he doesn't think Thirteen is attacking him. He already knew that Amber and Thirteen had never been the best of friends, and from what little Amber did mention of his current drinking partner, it had all been disdainful at best. And whatever it was he felt - and it was as strange to him as it was to anyone looking in from the outside - he was curious about Thirteen's comments.

She shrugged her shoulders again, brushing her hair out of her face and turning slightly to look at him. "She always has to be right, and it doesn't matter who gets hurt along the way. And she can't stand to be wrong, so she'll sabotage and lie and the whole time I worked with her, I don't think I saw her ever act remorseful about what she did."

"Some might call that strength of conviction," Wilson pointed out.

"You can still have conviction and have the guts to admit that you were wrong," she replied, and he was reminded of the mistakes that she'd made. House had always been one to share information, and even he'd admitted that she'd taken the death of her patient hard. He'd never been quite sure why he hadn't fired her, but now he was beginning to see what House had seen.

There was a fierce light in her eyes, unsettling and deeply curious.

He ordered another drink and she rolled her pretty eyes and ordered again.

"Why do you like her?" she asked. It made him wary; gossip spread like wildfire around hospital staff.

He didn't answer for a time, waiting first for his fresh drink to arrive, and then drinking deeply before he even started to think of how to reply. He was avoiding it, and he knew it. She knew it, too, but she didn't push for an answer. He was fairly sure if he waited long enough she'd move on.

When he did finally answer, he knew exactly how pathetic he sounded. "I'm not sure. She makes me feel... good. Different."

She nodded, accepting his answer for what it was, and he felt foolish, even more so than when he'd tried to explain it to House. Her demeanour was so cool, so removed, that he felt exposed talking about his personal life when so little was returned. It was like her entire body - the way she watched things out the corner of her eye, the way she sat - was wired to reveal as little about the person beneath the skin. And above all that, she was still human, and comfortable to be around.

He wondered how long until it would be until she drove him crazy.

Before he thought about it, he blurted out, "Do you want to sleep with House?"

Thirteen looked at him blankly. "No. Do you?"

Wilson felt his face scrunch up involuntarily. "No." He tried to recover himself, but she'd scored a point without even trying. "You flirt with him," he pointed out.

"I flirt with everybody," she replied dryly. "You two fight like an old married couple," she added, "and half the nursing staff think you're sleeping together."

He frowned. "Who said that?"

She shrugged.

He'd expected her to laugh, but her expression didn't change. Her passive acceptance was tough to unravel, and not for the first time he questioned how anyone could compare Cameron and Thirteen, like many had when House hired her. Sure, they were both attractive brunettes, but Cameron wore her emotions on the outside, and Thirteen had never been afraid to disagree with House. Hell, she'd even drugged him in retaliation - something he couldn't see Cameron ever doing.

A few drinks later - and a pointed observation that Thirteen had had more than she'd intended - they tried not to obviously stumble out of the bar. Something about the way she moved, choosing her steps carefully, caught his eye and he was forced to admit again that she was incredibly attractive.

When she looked up, meeting his gaze, he felt his face flush and hoped that in the relative darkness it wasn't visible.

He didn't expect her to kiss him.

He sure as hell didn't expect to respond.

Her mouth was hot against his, and she didn't hold back. Neither did he, even though part of his brain reminded him that it was wrong. The rational part reminded him that it was hardly the first time he'd cheated, even though he'd tried to tell himself he was past that.

When she pulled away, he felt heady from lack of oxygen, and her expression was unreadable.

She lifted one cool hand to his face, running her thumb across his lips. He realised she was rubbing her lipstick away.

"You should go home to her," she told him.

He knew she was right.

He was still trying to pull his thoughts together coherently. "Um, don't-"

She smiled, and there was a hint of sadness there. "I'm not your type, either," she told him. "Not really."

  



End file.
